Belle
by Fyrie
Summary: The third of the Tri-Wizard Champion fics: Fleur contemplates her fellow-competitors in the tournament.


Belle

Notes: Okay, I did a Viktor version of this scene in the 3rd-person-perspective and a Cedric version in the first-person perspective, which leaves me one more perspective to experiment with, although I can't guarantee doing it right. It's been a while, but no harm in trying, eh?

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You feel his eyes on you as soon as you enter the room, dark, shrewd.

The room is grim and even though he is back-lit by the flames, you can feel his gaze upon you, his unwanted attention making you tremble a little, as you realise that you are alone with him. 

Viktor Krum.

He is probably familiar with having any girl he chooses and now, he looks at you and you wonder briefly if it is possible that he thinks you will open your legs to him, simply for his name.

It is always the same, you know. 

You were raised by your mother to accept that you would always be looked at this way, male eyes roaming your face and body, as if you were nothing more than a statue to be looked upon.

It is not an entirely pleasant sensation, always being looked at and stared at, but you must feign dignity, a pride that raises you above it. 

Yes, you know you are beautiful, but that doesn't give them the right to stare and you know that you have to be better than that, you have to be distanced, aloof, out of their reach so that they know that they can not touch you.

You are not an object, lifeless and uncaring, for any greedy hands to grasp, as many have assumed. You are a person, a person who will only accept the touches of the one she desires. 

It is safer that way, if they all feel you are on a pedestal.

Men are simple, maman has told you many times. If they believe you to be out of their reach, they will not attempt to touch you, you will be safe from grasping fingers, rude mouths and eager bodies.

Better to be aloof and dignified, than close. You would not want any close, lest they harm you in the ways that maman has warned you of, lest they touch when you do not wish them too, and think they own you.

You have heard of what some men will do to the one they desire and you know that your beauty is a curse as much as a blessing, drawing eyes to you, raising expectations of what you are and what you will be.

It is terrifying.

Although, you also know that not all men are like that.

Papa was not like that.

Perhaps, you think, Viktor Krum may be like papa, quiet and gentle.

Or perhaps not.

You look him over, wonder briefly what he thinks of you, if he sees through your facade and knows that you are afraid of what he might wish of you. 

He must be the most skilled in his school to have been chosen by the Goblet, as you are. You are the highest-graded student in most of your classes and hope beyond hope that you do not disappoint your school, your Professors, your family.

Perhaps he feels the same as you.

He might be nervous.

Non...

He can not be as nervous as you feel, as you try and remain aloof, distant. Nor can he see the sweat on your palms, feel the butterflies that dance in your stomach, sense the dizziness that overwhelms you.

You raise you chin, ever the chaste maiden, giving him the benefit of your gaze.

He turns slightly, almost like he is looking at the fire, but you can still feel his eyes on you. He is probably familiar with being stared at and watched, so why should he feel awkward about looking at you?

After all, it is what you have been raised to expect.

The door opens and you turn to see the third of your number, hoping that you will not be faced with one as grim and dominating in presence as he who is lingering by the fire-place, silhouetted in flame.

He is a pretty one, pleasing to look upon and bright-eyed.

Smiling, he comes forward and greets you. His voice is shaking a little and you know he feels as anxious and thrilled as you do. His hand closes around yours, warm and firm and a little damp.

In his shining eyes, you can see gentleness, honesty and kindness, as well as nervous rapture, his features a beautifully-crafted open book to one who knows how to read the faces of men. 

This is a good young man, one of the rare, genuinely charming individuals.

You lower your facade a little, willing to... know this individual more. Acting like girls must to attract the one they like, you smile and gaze coyly at him but he is distracted, staring at the third person, who hides and lurks by the fireplace.

Non...

He steps away from you and approaches Krum and you feel a flutter of confusion. 

It is wrong...

You have smiled and acted as you are meant to, to allow him to come closer, yet he steps away from you. Perhaps he is shyer than he appears to be, you think, watching him shake Krum's hand.

Perhaps...

Perhaps he does not like you.

A pang of pain spread beneath your chest and you feel your eyes burn. Non... you can not show that you feel hurt, you must hide it, you must not allow them to believe that you are weak.

You might feel it, but you can not show it.

You are a strong, beautiful woman. No male can hurt you, you tell yourself, you repeat it like a whispered mantra in your mind. You cannot be hurt by the actions of a mere man. You cannot. You cannot.

Raising your chin, you blink any lingering tears away, drawing your icy mask back into place, although your hands tremble unseen, concealed by the capricious sleeves of your silvery robes.

It is an act that you have practised and perfected over many years.

Maman would be most displeased if you were seen to weep.

A Veela does not let a man upset her, she told you many times. If that male caused her pain, she must not show it like most girls would. She must remain cold, distant and beautiful as a glacier.

He will be made to pay for his hurt by being isolated from the exclusive affections of the Veela, pushed from her favour.

You try to maintain the cool mask, the room steeped in silence, as they find nothing to speak of. Krum returns to watching the fire and you feel the other one watch you briefly, staring.

Non, it is too late for him.

You raise your chin proudly, showing him that his casual dismissal of you to talk to the other boy has not harmed you, although you wonder why he could possibly dislike you without knowing you.

Perhaps, you think, you should give this one a second chance.

After all, he does seem very kind and sweet.

"So..." he says and then, the door opens behind you.

Turning sharply, you see a little boy enter, irritation flooding you. The nice young man was about to speak and you were going to approach, to give him a second chance to redeem himself.

The little boy looks at you, confused.

Perhaps he has come to the wrong room, you think, or perhaps you are meant to go back to the hall...

You ask and he simply stares more.

What a strange little boy.


End file.
